Posts Tagged ‘imagery’
The Beauty of Form – Arthur Sze
Posted in Imagery, tagged Arthur Sze, Copper Canyon Press, Glass Constellation, imagery, nature, nature photography, poetry on February 27, 2026| 1 Comment »
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[ 2 poems by Arthur Sze ]
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Entanglement
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5
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Along the shore, bald eagles nest in the yellow cedars—
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my clothes reek of cedar smoke—
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I wrap clothes around glass jars of king salmon in my knapsack—
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standing on a dock, I board a floatplane—
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floaters in my eyes, wherever I go—
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wherever you go, you cannot travel faster than light—
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synapses firing in my body are a form of light—
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threads of fugitive dye entangled in neural firings—
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scent of summer in the blackening leaves—
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a black bear swipes a screen door and ransacks a kitchen—
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we ransack the past and discover action at a distance—
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entangled waves of near and far—
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a photon fired through a slit behaves like a wave—
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we inhale, and our lungs oxygenate a cosmos—
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a fire breaks out of the secret depths of the earth—
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revel in the beauty of form.
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Arthur Sze
from White Orchard, new poems in The Glass Constellation, New and Collected Poems; Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2024
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Transpirations
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Leaving branches of a backyard plum—
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branches of water on a dissolving ice sheet—
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chatter of magpies when you approach—
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lilacs lean over the road, weighted with purple blossoms—
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then the noon sun shimmers the grasses—
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you ride the surge into summer—
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smell of piñon crackling in the fireplace—
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blued notes of a saxophone in the air—
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not by sand running through an hourglass but by our bodies igniting—
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passing in the form of vapors from a living body—
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this world of orange sunlight and wildfire haze—
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world of iron filings pulled toward magnetic south and north—
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pool of quicksilver when you bend to tie your shoes—
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standing, you well up with glistening eyes—
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have you lived with utmost care?—
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have you articulated emotions like the edges of leaves?—
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adjust your breath to the seasonal rhythm of grasses—
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gazing into a lake on a salt flat and drinking, in reflection, the Milky Way—
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Arthur Sze
from White Orchard, new poems in The Glass Constellation, New and Collected Poems; Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2024
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. . . . . Last night, gazing
at Orion’s belt and sword sparkling in the sky,
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I saw how we yearn for connection where
no connection exists: what belt, what sword?
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from Ravine, Arthur Sze
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And yet when I try to separate things, pull them apart to understand, they feel like they are all connected. Like the lines in these poems. At first each is its own crystallized moment, its individual monoku of presence. I slow myself to read the lines again, calmer, unhurried, in sequence, and they begin to speak to each other. They entangle and combine. They spark little flashes at the back door of consciousness. Meaning wants to come in from the dark. I can’t necessarily tell you Meaning’s dimensions nor her Latin binomial, but I can say that she seems companionable. She looks and smells and speaks like someone I’d like to have come in and set a spell.
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Meaning, are you out there waiting patiently to be found, or are you nothing but a fancy my mind creates? I know your cousin Reality is not really comprised of infinitesimal billiard balls in orbit but rather clouds of potentiality. Nevertheless, Reality and mind do interact. Quantum superposition – the wave function collapses to a defined presence when touched by consciousness. This line of poetry is infused with meanings. I bring all my history and my own potentialities to its moment of reading. Who could foresee how all those elements might react? But they do. And Meaning and I leave the event arm in arm.
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Arthur Sze is the twenty-fifth Poet Laureate of the United States, appointed in 2025. He was born in New York City in 1950 and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with his wife poet Carol Moldaw. The Glass Constellation collects poems from ten earlier collections spanning fifty years, as well as twenty-six new poems (sampled here). It is the winner of the 2024 National Book Foundation Science and Literature Award.
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The Glass Constellation is available from Copper Canyon Press, and you can sample two poems from Arthur Sze’s newest book, Into the Hush, at an earlier poste HERE
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
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If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
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If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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– Bill
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Buoyed Minutes – Arthur Sze
Posted in Ecopoetry, tagged Arthur Sze, Copper Canyon Press, Ecopoetry, imagery, Into the Hush, nature photography, poetry on February 20, 2026| 4 Comments »
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[ 2 poems by Arthur Sze ]
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Architectures of Emptiness
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4
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Mark the shadows of aspen leaves
rippling on grass; beneath a veil
of white bark, aspens have a photosynthetic
layer that absorbs sunlight
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through winter; a magpie sails
across a yard, flutters wing feathers,
and, landing on spruce, squawks—
it speaks to you; thin-leaf alder
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shoots rising out of the ditch speak;
you stand in Tree pose: inhale,
exhale, inhale, exhale: water
is to emptiness as sun is to language;
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you sluice into the infinite tangle
of beginnings and ends: cottonwood
seeds swirl in the air; a wild
apricot blooms by the ditch; suddenly
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each aspen leaf on a tree is a word,
the movement of leaves their syntax:
burns diamond light diffuse it
so we green green,
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diamond light burns so we
diffuse it into greening—
suddenly you parse the leaves,
and they are speaking to you now:
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Arthur Sze
from Into the Hush, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2025
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Farolitos
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We pour sand into brown lunch bags, then place
a votive candle
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inside each; at night, lined along the driveway,
the flickering lights
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form a spirit way, but what spirit? what way?
we grieve, yearn, joy,
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pinpoints in a greater darkness, and spy sunlight
brighten craters
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on a half-lit moon; in this life, you may try, try
to light a match, fail,
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fail again and again; yet, letting go, you strike
a tip one more time
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when it bursts into flame— now the flames
are lights in bags again,
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and we glimpse the willow tips clutch at a lunar
promise of spring.
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Arthur Sze
from Into the Hush, Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2025
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Yogis call these buoyed minutes / the moment of the universe, and who knows . . .
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Who knows? Knowing has been the false hare speeding in front of me, dragging my greyhound brain around and around this crazy dog track of a life. Learn another thing, cinch it down into the sack of knowing with all those others. Linda’s disgust is apparent: “You know everything.” Well, I know I don’t, but that’s not because I wouldn’t like to. . . . if spruce, aspen, and a golden rain tree / converse, like mycelium, through roots? Ooh, I would like to know that.
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Meanwhile, in the buoyed minutes of not knowing, the universe is trying to speak. Perhaps I do know that I will not get far with parsing the language of rustling leaves while perched at my desk with graph paper and pen. I remember riding in the car with my mother when I was six, suddenly realizing I couldn’t NOT read the signs as they passed. So hungry is the hound brain for something to know. But Time, being a line and therefore composed of an infinite number of points between each moment A and moment B, cannot be filled with knowing. What remains unfilled, the emptiness – is that the domain of despair? of wisdom? of grief? of joy?
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Arthur Sze is the twenty-fifth Poet Laureate of the United States, appointed in 2025. He was born in New York City in 1950 and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with his wife poet Carol Moldaw. Into the Hush, his twelfth book of poetry, travels the geography of tropics and desert, seaside and riverside. It also travels the geography of memory, contemplation, suffering, and redemption. When the buzz of molecule and distant star, the thrash of tempest and desecration, the murmur of guilt and doubt, when all of these have stilled we enter into the hush.
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Into the Hush from Copper Canyon Press.
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
.
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
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If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
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COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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– Bill
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Maura High – Field as Auditorium
Posted in ecology, Ecopoetry, Imagery, poetry, tagged Ecopoetry, Field as Auditorium, imagery, Maura High, nature, nature photography, nature poetry, NC Poets, poetry, Southern writing on January 30, 2026| 2 Comments »
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[ 2 poems by Maura High ]
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Excursions in Moss
+++++ — for Barbara
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They were here, all this time,
in this same world,
here for the seeing:
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green shag and starfield, clumps, pinheads,
frilled with lichen,
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and poking up through them the green
first leaves of violet, wood sorrel,
for example, among the ephemera —
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here, in the piedmont of North Carolina,
all the greens in creation:
a landscape within landscapes,
slow as,
quiet as,
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as back along
the rims of lakes and drainages in the early Cambrian.
In this same old world:
the same creep and cling
and drill into the surface
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with their fragile rhizoids, into rock fissures,
now bark, now exposed root,
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into the Anthropocene and still
green between paving stone,
on verges, stuck fast
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to rocks along the banks of Bolin Creek,
down a grit-and-gravel driveway.
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A green gift
my friend gave me:
moss scrapings, from her yard
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over in the next county;
in late summer
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the waggly spore capsules
pop open, and a million spores float
off and up into whatever wind.
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Reprise
+++++ — for Frances
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One leaf falls from the hickory
+++++ outside my window—
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+++++ a slow loop right,
an about turn, and squiggle—
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so cursory a gesture, it looks
+++++ like something written
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+++++ in an alphabet of leaves:
a charm against insects
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and woodpecker; a plea
+++++ for all the leaves that fall,
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+++++ blacken, and rot, and leach
into the earth, and rise again
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to new petiole, new leaf,
+++++ singing the green song of desire
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+++++ and the brown of thrift;
the whispery, creaky name
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the tree gives itself;
+++++ or the name we have given it,
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+++++ full of ourselves and our own
histories, as a child
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writes her given name and sees
+++++ herself there, her first self-portrait.
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Maura High
from Field as Auditorium, Redhawk Publications, The Catawba Community College Press; Hickory NC; © 2025.
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Maura High speaks the language of wild. She writes in an alphabet of leaves. Her poems sometimes withdraw entirely from the touch or consideration of human presence and become encompassed entirely by field, by forest – crownbeard setting seed in the wilding meadow, Bolin Creek about its business of undercutting a bank of clay, moss creating soil from stone. Maura translates for us the deep language of life and of time. Where did this come from? Where are we going?
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As I read Maura High’s poetry, I consider the many lives I have overlooked, forgotten, ignored. I am reminded to listen for the soft peeps of sparrows and finches settling into the shrubbery at sunset. Listen closer – the seep of water in the dirt beneath my feet and the striving of rootlets and mycelia. Closer yet – the movement of seasons, long connections across time, encircling connections gathering life and nudging forward. From careful observation and contemplation of the unremarkable features of a creek, a tree, a flower, Maura creates an opportunity for us, her readers, to participate in the most remarkable story of all.
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Maura High was born in Wales but grew up on Planet Earth. She has established tender rhizoids in piedmont North Carolina but the wind is apt to blow her to distant climes at any moment. These two poems are from her newest book, Field as Auditorium, from Redhawk. She has also published The Garden of Persuasions, winner of the Jacar Press chapbook contest (2013), and Stone, Water, Time in collaboration with artist Lyric Kinard, Lyric Art Publishing (2019). Sample more of her poetry at MauraHigh.com.
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
.
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
.
.
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
.
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
.
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
.
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
.
– Bill
.
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Very true. And not that she ignores the grief and woe of living but somehow makes all of life a…